A Series of Nonsensical Drabbles
by katamari-jedi
Summary: Just like what the title says - a collection of drabbles written with prompts by friends. Also intended as writing-practice for myself. Hopefully you'll think it's entertaining enough. Various nations/pairings.
1. Take 1: Of English Tea Parties

**A/N: **This started off solely as a drabble-challenge with prompts given to me by friends. And I thought since I'm writing a few, why not just post them here as well, where I can update with more drabbles if I so ever write them in future (which I may do, as practice). Also, I seem to be experiencing some kind of half-arsed writer's block now, and this is also my attempt to break out of it so I can finish up Act 5 soon. Apologies to those who've been waiting so long for an update. Hopefully this works? ^^;

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> Of English Tea Parties  
><strong>Characters:<strong> England, Japan  
><strong>RatingGenre:** G / Humour, Crack  
><strong>Warning:<strong> England's scones.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> A hundred-ish drabble written impromptu for _**naturethezafara**_

* * *

><p>~.*.~<p>

"Japan, would you like some tea? I can make you my best English brew. You have to try it!"

"Ah, if it's not too much trouble. Thank you for your hospitality, England-san."

"Oh don't worry, old chap. And since we're going have some tea, let me whip up some of those brilliant scones for you to-"

"A-ah! T-that won't be really necessary, England-san! Um... I mean, please, I don't want to trouble you."

"But it's made with a special recipe handed all the way down from me mum's _royal _line. It'd be quite a pity if you don't try it."

"A-aahh..."

"Here, I've actually got one right here on my saucer now. Please do try it. I'm telling you Japan, 'tis the best scone you'll ever get to taste in the British Isle. And it definitely beats America's disgusting _fat_-flavoured donuts, hah!"

"... England-san, would it be all right if I just lick the scone instead?"

"Eh, wot?"

"Because I'm not quite sure if I can still keep up the polite countenance with a raging stomach-ache."

_**-End-**_


	2. Take 2: Lost in the Sounds

**Title:** Lost in the Sounds  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): ** England/Japan  
><strong>RatingGenre:** G  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In which Arthur ponders about companionship and the things he will miss at the end of it  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>My lame attempts at trying to be half-metaphorical in hopes of breaking the accursed Writer's Block.  
><strong>Note:<strong> Also written for **naturethezafara** as part of the drabble-challenge. She wanted a sprinkle of England/Japan, coupled with a pinch of angst and showed me a link to Regina Spektor's song called_ Fidelity. _This is the concoction I came up with (and it's not a song-fic). But well…. yeah.

* * *

><p>~.*.~<p>

_It's irrational_, he reasons as he takes a sip, impressive brows furrowed together. The cold kiss of autumn brushes lightly against his cheeks and nose, and he shivers.

_It's irrational and unbecoming of you_, England reasons, chiding himself – or _tries_ to – looking to distract himself. From what, he isn't quite sure. (Maybe he is, but it's unlikely he will want to address it. Japan certainly won't).

"The leaves are turning." Beside him, Japan's voice is soft, his gaze clouded.

"Aahh, so they are." England breathes deeply, feeling the crisp air filling his lungs. "A pity we don't have leaves as colourful as yours – it might take away some of the gloom and bleakness we English seem perpetually shrouded in."

He laughs then, a raspy sound; there is little humour in it. Even so, Japan dips his head politely, ever the gracious host, and for a moment, a tiny smile creeps past that impassive mask he so often wears. The gesture is enough to stir warmth in England's chest.

"Perhaps." Japan says simply, reaching out to pour more tea for them, before he turns his gaze back out to the garden, watching the fall of shadows and golden ginkgo leaves.

They listen to the sounds of birdsong and wind, of changing seasons. England tries to capture the unspoken; words and emotion wafting out like the steam from their cups. He fails though – as soon as he opens his mouth, they are lost in the sounds.

(These voices, he hears them, but he doesn't say them aloud, he doesn't know _how._ A pity, but really, what do two old blokes know of these things, eh?)

They continue to watch the leaves dance and twirl; little chess pieces buffeted around by clashing winds of ideology, by differing spheres.

England thinks he will miss this the most – the quiet and the tea, the steady stream of conversation and appreciation. He sighs, and his hand slips a little, spilling hot tea down his front. Japan starts, reaching out towards him.

"Bollocks," England curses, and then stops, giving his friend a contrite glance. "Apologies, old chap..."

Japan draws his arms back around himself, tentative. "Please, do be careful."

England only offers a smile, glancing back down at his tea. He thinks of hot springs and of friendly quips with Japan's ghosts; of practicing English and of polite gracefulness.

He thinks of twenty-one years of alliance.

"I will miss this," is what he says instead. "All of it."

"... I know." Japan replies, and doesn't say more.

They sip their tea, watching the fall of leaves, watching the fading of companionship.

Blink – _and you'll miss_– and then, it's gone.

_**-End-**_

* * *

><p><em>:::<strong><br>**_

Notes:

I don't… really know what happened here. I tried to fit small pieces of the song-lyrics to this, and the sad angst you wanted. I hope it wasn't overdone. So, this is my short, half-metaphorical take on the Dissolution of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance with the two sharing quiet time before they officially aren't "friends" anymore. It's hard being a nation, isn't it?

This was also cross-posted to the kinkmeme under "Anything Goes" because I noticed quite a number of England/Japan prompts, but most were unfilled. So I felt kinda bad for fans of this pairing, and was thinking they probably wouldn't mind some UK-Japan-centric drabble-fills right? Er, well, I _hope._

Also, I don't actually ship this pair romantically, and I prefer them just being friends/bros. But well, it _is_ a writing-challenge... so, challenged accepted! Not sure if I manage to capture their dynamics together though!

I apologize for any OCC-ness. Iggy, why are you so hard to write ;_; I could have saved myself the trouble if I actually wrote it from Japan's POV, but again, I wanted to write different perspectives, and I _really_ wanted to head into England's head and write from his POV xD

I hope you will enjoy and like it enough.


	3. Take 3: Hell's Kitchen, Hetalia style

**Title:** Hell's Kitchen, Hetalia-style  
><strong>Character(s):<strong> Germany, Spain, England, Sweden and Switzerland  
><strong>RatingGenre:** G / Humour  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Human names, and crack, so much crack. Oh and England's scones. Again. Le horror.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written in twenty minutes on a whim and based on a random prompt given by a friend  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong>Proceed with caution for I bear no responsibility for what happens next.

* * *

><p>~.*.~<p>

**Ludwig: **Und now ve shall put ze flour in, measured precisely to ze fifth decimal place. So remember, it ist zero-point-four-eight-seven-six-five grams of flour...

**Antonio: **Ehhhhhhh so that just about 0.5 grams right?

**Ludwig:** NEIN! I said to ze _fifth_ decimal place! It needs to be _accurate_ or ze cake might not rise enough!

**Antonio:** Ehhhhhh but I can't read zero-point-four-eight... something something off my scale.

**Ludwig:**Zen ve vill have to use MY weighing balance!

_Ludwig slams a shiny, hi-tech balance on kitchen table._

**Ludwig:** Ze latest model in a highly successful line, it comes with four automatic sliding doors, with a self-calibrating fucntion, and it can read up to five decimal places with a plus minus error of zero-point-zero-zero-one percent.

**Antonio:** Ehhhhhhh that is... ehhhhhh...

**Ludwig:** _Das ist ein schoener perfekter Instrument!_

**Arthur:**Tch, you all spend too much time prattling about nonsense. Really, measuring flour to the fifth decimal place? That is simply absurd! Baking is more than just numbers or points; it's about relentless determination and a burning, sizzling passion. It's about...

_Here, Arthur rolls up his sleeves and slaps on a frilly pink apron. White-hot flames of ambition are ablaze within his eyes. Behind him, black smoke curls about like tendrils of evil._

**Arthur:** It's all about doing it like a _**REAL MAN.**_ And since I can't help but pity you poor, uneducated sods, I'll have to show you how it's really done. Let me make you all some lovely scones.

**Antonio: **EHHHHHHH?

**Ludwig:** VAT? VAIT, VAIT VE UH, VE AREN'T REALLY...

**Antonio:** Buhyooooooo I don't think I'm quite that hungry anymore ...

**Arthur:** Ahahahaha come now, lads, don't be shy. I know my baking skills are renowned all over–

**Antonio:** Oh yes, too well renowned.

**Arthur:** –but I can be a kind teacher. Strict yes, but kind nonetheless... So let's start with the dough...

**Ludwig:** NEIN! Uh vait, vait... uh ve has a meeting to go to und-

_Berwald stares silently at everyone, face impassive, before turning back to stare at the baking items. After some careful thinking, he dumps everything into the mixing bowl, swirls it all together like a boss and dumps mixing bowl into the pot. He turns up stove._

**Berwald: **All d'ne.

_He checks his watch, and then gives everyone a thumbs-up, beaming slightly. Moe sparkles twinkle in the background._

**Berwald:** Sh'ld be r'dy in few h'rs.

**Ludwig, Antonio and Arthur: **...

_The kitchen door swings open, slamming against the walls as Vash storms in, brandishing a badass-motherfucking Stgw.57 in his hands._

_Outside the garden, a cat explodes in flames._

_A dog falls off the fence._

**Vash:**WHY ARE YOU ALL SO NOISY IN THE MORNING? SHUT THE HELL UP, OR I'LL BEAT YOU WITH MY PEACE PRIZE!

_And that is why, the five-some decided that perhaps Chinese take-outs make the best dinners after all._

_Ba dum tish._

_**-End-**_

* * *

><p>:::<p>

Notes:

_"What if everyone in my group of friends represented Hetalia characters in a Sims game. Based upon nationality, not personality. Be kind of like a randomized crack-pairing. What sort of random shenanigans would occur in that group? Or would there be any? Maybe they'd get along?"_

So a friend posted this on a forum I haunt often. Based on her friends' nationalities, the scenario is having Germany, Spain, England, Sweden and Switzerland being roomies/buddies and the random stuff that occurs between them. And this is what happens when I procrastinate at work. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in my brain.

I also wonder what my Script-writing professor would think if she knew this is how I use what she taught us in class, to write about fictional personified nations. Pfft.

This was also cross-posted to the kinkmeme for the prompt "Any/Any, Fun in the Kitchen." So you could say this is a de-anon of sorts.

Ludwig's weighing balance: http:(doubleslash)www(dot)coleparmer(dot)com(slash)TechLibraryArticle(slash)1164

Also also, Swedish mealtimes is the shizzzzz: http:(doubleslash)www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?v=Akxgb5ONhB0

I promise the next thing I write won't be crack, and will be a bit more substantial. Well. Maybe. lol


	4. Take 4: Mislabelled

**Title: **Mislabelled  
><strong>Character(s): <strong>Greece/Japan  
><strong>RatingGenre:** PG-15/ Humour  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In which Herakles makes an interesting discovery in Kiku's lab.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Random Human-AU, and well… implied sexytimez that may or may not have occurred at some point? And possibly Kiku's secret stash of toys hidden somewhere. Muahaha.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Based on a true story… ABOUT THE MISLABELLING, NOT THE TOYS OR THE IMPLIED SEXYTIMEZ, OKEY?

* * *

><p>~.*.~<p>

Herakles swept his gaze around the lab, silently studying the assortment of instruments arranged neatly on benches. The polished blackness of the bench-top contrasted sharply against the cool, metallic shine of the instruments, and he couldn't help but feel intrigued by how organized everything was - compared to what he'd seen back in his own undergraduate studies, the instruments in Kiku's lab were well ahead of anything Herakles had ever dealt with.

He was just about to reply to Kiku's comment about the latest model of a semi-automatic weighing balance when something caught his eye. He glanced back at the cabinet just to his right, squinting.

He blinked... and then blinked again.

"Is something wrong, Herakles-san?" Kiku asked.

Herakles was still staring at the cabinet, brows knitted tightly, before he finally tore his gaze away and met Kiku's questioning look.

"Sorry," he said. "I just didn't realize that it was even... well..."

Kiku quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

"I didn't know you could keep adult toys in the lab."

Kiku gaped wordlessly at Herakles, and Herakles belatedly thought perhaps he'd been a little too forward again - people probably didn't appreciate an acquaintance pointing out their weird habits, right? Not that Herakles thought this was weird... well, not by Kiku's standards at least. After all, he had met others with stranger quirks, and with Kiku, Herakles found it oddly cute. He glanced back at the cabinet again.

"Well, the label says 'cock rings' and I just thought..."

"W-what?" Kiku moved forward to the cabinets. When he finally saw what Herakles had been scrutinizing, he could only flush in embarrassment.

"That definitely will be the_ last_ time I let the undergrads assist with the labeling." He sighed, voice tinged with the slightest hint of annoyance.

Herakles' nose crinkled with amusement as he watched Kiku picking at the label with the same amount of vigour as a soldier sent off to fight a war, grim-faced and determined.

"So," Herakles began, when Kiku finally pried the offensive marker free. "Do you keep them elsewhere?"

"A-ah? Keep what elsewhere...?"

"Sex toys."

_**-End-**_

* * *

><p><em>:::<em>

Notes:

Basically the real-life version of this story is, I found out recently that one of my co-workers misspelled "cork rings" as "cock rings" and stuck it on one of our cabinets in the lab for nearly a _whole _year. Imagine what some of the undergraduate students must have thought.

A cork ring is a normal lab ware equipment used to give support to glass containers which are round-bottomed.

Example: http:(doubleslash)www(dot)wfu(dot)edu(slash)chemistry(slash)courses(slash)organic(slash)glassware(slash)images(slash)2neck(dot)jpg

If you don't know what a cock ring is, then it means you're not old enough to be reading this. Hurr.


	5. Take 5: Tomodachi  Fílos

**Title: **Tomodachi / Fílos  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): **Greece/Japan  
><strong>RatingGenre:** PG-13 / Fluff  
><strong>Summary: <strong>In which Herakles tries to make amends  
><strong>Note:<strong> Written as part of a challenge, for _**CorruptedWhisper's **_prompt: "Giripan. Language barrier, but they maintain a relationship somehow through the use of charades, gestures, and very little words that they have learned from the other."

* * *

><p>~.*.~<p>

To be honest, he didn't think he'd be this nervous. It had seem relatively straight-forward when he had planned it all out in his head on the train, seated in-between a snoring down-on-his-luck salaryman and an old woman knitting what looked like a suspiciously like a bright-pink camisole… well, maybe everything seemed simpler in comparison to knitted pink camisoles.

_Was she knitting that for her teenaged granddaughter? It looked too big for a five-year-old…_

– quick wave flashed before him and –

Herakles snapped back to attention, suddenly recalling that Kiku was still standing before him, and was now wearing a slightly concerned (whether for Herakles or for _himself_, the Grecian can't quite tell yet) look upon his face.

"I'm sorry," Herakles began, bowing his head awkwardly in embarrassment. "Er… _sumimasen_… and.. ah.. _watashi wa_… ah…"

Kiku quirked his brows questioningly, disquiet in his eyes still and Herakles could see he was slowly backing away. He sighed, and tried again.

"_Sumimasen_. I'm… I'm sorry, I wish I knew how to say this in better Japanese, but I'll probably end up confusing you again, and I don't want that."

Herakles chuckled softly, turning his head away to glance at his shoes instead. He could still feel Kiku's silent gaze on him, and a huge part of him really wanted to meet that gaze. But he knew Kiku was still wary, still uncertain of him… of _them. _So he kept his gaze trained at his shoes, at that little pebble beside his left foot, at the tiny wildflower peeking out from in between cracks of the street gutter.

He kept his gaze on everything else except Kiku.

"I know we got off on a wrong start, and I really am sorry I said '_Chikush–_' "

Kiku flinched.

"Oh shi- aaah erm, sorry. Sorry. Right… well, what I'm been meaning to say is that… well, I'm really, really sorry and I was being stupid - still probably being stupid now but - I hope we can just start over again? Because I just.. well…"

Herakles paused, fiddling with a stray thread from the hem of his shirt, before he slowly lifted his gaze again. He offered Kiku a tiny smile, and raising both his hands, brought them together to form a heart-shape sign with his fingers.

"_To… tomodachi ni natte kuremasen ka_?"

Herakles didn't know what to expect or think of after he'd said it - he'd only hoped that he hadn't embarrassed himself again (or worse, embarrassed or insulted _Kiku_).

He didn't know what to think, no, but he definitely didn't expect Kiku's expression to soften–

– and then suddenly Kiku moved –

– and Herakles felt arms embracing him around his torso and the weight of what felt like Kiku burying and hiding his face against Herakles' chest.

"_Nai_," Kiku murmured softly. "_Nai, tha í̱thela na._"

**_–End–_**

* * *

><p><em>:::<br>_

Some translations**_  
><em>**

_tomodachi ni natte kuremasen ka?_ – will you be my friend? (or the more polite form would be "would you do me the favour of being my friend?" )

_nai, tha í̱thela na – _yes, i would like to

This is my problem when I write Giripan: I can't seem to stop being pretentious and throwing in Greek and Japanese phrases, and end up embarrassing myself when I get them slightly wrong. Also, if you were wondering, Herakles made the mistake of using _chikushou_ (previously when conversing with Kiku)which roughly means "dammit!" or "shit!" in Japanese (blame Alfred, he told Herakles that he could improve his Japanese by watching anime, yes!) It isn't most polite thing to be spouting off, and definitely not to someone you just met, lol.

But anyway, this was written as a spur-of-the moment thing (again), so apologies if it sounds a little cluttered and incoherent as some parts. It was still written with much love though *insert hearts here*


	6. Take 6: Harbinger

**Title:** Harbinger  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): ** England and Japan. And mentions of "Bartholomew" Howard aka Workbitch.  
><strong>RatingGenre:** PG-13  
><strong>Summary:<strong> In which Arthur realises that not all slaves are what they seem.  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>attempts at a Steampunk-AU, human names used, some action/fight scenes. Also, secret-Pirate!Iggy and a giant airship.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written for _**Nature**_ as part of a writing meme/challenge. Prompt was "England/Japan in a steampunk or dieselpunk setting".

* * *

><p> <p>

Arthur could only click his tongue in restrained annoyance, two fingers massaging the bridge of his nose as he waved his other hand dismissively at Bartholomew. The lad was a hard, honest worker - Arthur will give him that, at least - but really, when it came to the matter of good and _sound _judgements, the poor boy was, unfortunately,_ not _quite the brightest bulb in the room.

"You don't even need _me_ to do this for you, Bartholomew," he finally said, fishing out a gold pocket watch from within his coat to check the time again. As the tiny minute hand swung past a silver number "9", Arthur heard the low blare of a horn sound from the upper deck, reverberating off the metal hull of the airship and signalling that the _HMS Queen Elizabeth _would be arriving in Londinium skies in another twenty minutes or so.

Right on schedule, just like how he preferred it.

Arthur snapped the pocket watch shut and turning on his heels, began to make his way towards the door.

"Now unless you want to us to be missing our meeting with the Duke Edelstein_ and_ subsequently causing your Captain's whole enterprise to go belly-up, I suggest you throw those slaves in together with the rest and–"

And Arthur never got to finish his sentence. Before he or Bartholomew or any of the other men in the room could react, there was a flurry of movement and hisses of surprise and hastily drawn guns and cutlasses.

Arthur cursed silently at his carelessness but he was the Captain of the _Elizabeth_, and _God-be-damned _if he'd allow a mongrel of a flea-bitten slave one-up him on his own ship.

He dodged the blow just he heard the blade sing as it cut into the air when he stood just moments before. Pivoting on his heels, Arthur drew his gun and fire a shot but missed, as the figure twirled away before launching itself at him again–

–_a blur of black and red and a gleaming sword_

Arthur cursed again and this time, stepped forward to meet the lunge and with another shot and a slash, the two finally came to an abrupt halt; Arthur had his gun cocked directly at the side of the other man's head. His opponent – a man of slender-built and raven hair – had his katana pressed just at the vein throbbing on the right side of Arthur's neck.

The two stood, frozen in silence, eyes still locked, before recognition finally dawned on Arthur.

"My apologies for imposing myself upon your conversation, Captain Kirkland," Kiku finally said, breaking the silence, his face set in an impassive mask. "There is however, one thing I am unable to let by…"

Arthur felt a sharp sting against his flesh as the other man tightened his hold on the sword.

"I am not a 'slave'," Kiku hissed, eyes dark with restrained anger. "I am the harbinger of your death." 

_**-End-**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>:::<br>**_

In retrospect, I feel like this wasn't "steampunk-ish" enough. Ah well. Also, I think I'm getting better at writing from Iggy's POV. Yay for practice.


	7. Take 7: The Unforeseeable Tomorrow

**Title:** Towards the Unforeseeable Tomorrow  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): **Germany/North Italy.  
><strong>RatingGenre:** PG-13 / Introspective, Fluff, Friendship.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Regardless of how he feels inside, Veneziano is always smiling. Based on this strip: http:(doubleslash)www(dot)hetarchive(dot)net(slash)scanlations(slash)volume1(dot)php?v1_129-134  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Written for _**counterheist**_, because she was having a crappy week and needed some cheering-up. As this was written at 5AM, it may or may not come across as a_ little_ disjointed in some places. Also, hey look, it's _not_ a Giripan fic, heh.

* * *

><p>~.*.~ <p>

Veneziano always smiles.

He smiles even as a child, busily cleaning away in Mister Austria's house; when he dusts at drab, dreary paintings mounted upon floral-patterned walls; when he scrubs at the mould hiding in-between the linoleum tiles; when he hunches over the kitchen sink, wiping the dishes dry before putting them away.

He smiles, even when he trips himself going up the stairs, or when he unintentionally knocks over things on Germany's desk, because he was talking to Germany, and talking to Germany makes him happy, and that also makes him excited and Veneziano likes to move a lot when he's excited and… _oh, that vase just fell over, sorry Germany, ve–_

Germany shouts at him, of course; just like how he always shouts at Veneziano to run faster whenever they are training; like how he shouts at Veneziano because he threw the pin instead and not the grenade; or like how he shouts at Veneziano (as he rushes in to help) in the battlefield because Veneziano cried out to him.

Germany shouts at him, and sometimes puts him in headlocks, but after that, he also sighs, and then tells Veneziano, _do be careful next time, all right?_

So Veneziano continues to smile, even though he's a little worried now, and nervous, and maybe even a little scared…

(_He will come back, won't he? Germany's strong, ve, he will definitely come back-_)

He doesn't want to make Germany worry again, but he also doesn't know what else to do when he's afraid, when he's afraid that Germany wouldn't return, just like how _**he**_didn't-

"Hey Germany! Germaaaaany, _ciao_!"

"Italy? What are you doing here?" Germany frowns at him, though not unkindly.

Veneziano only beams brightly, holding up the basket he'd packed from home. "I prepared some food for you, Germany! Please eat it later when you're hungry."

"Ah," Germany blinks, surprised, but he accepts the basket from Veneziano. "Thank you."

"Also Germany, ve, let's play pretend for a bit! Just for five seconds, I'll be 'Germany' and you are 'Italy' okay?"

"Huh? That is a very strange request, but all right…"

"Yay!" Veneziano smile widens as he lifts his left arm up in a salute. He sets his face into the sternest expression he can muster, raising his voice and he says, "Right, listen up now, Italy! Do not get injured! Take caution not to catch a cold! Remember to put on your clothes when you wake up – do not go pant-less when you leave the tent! That is all."

Germany stares blankly, brows furrowed slightly. "Do I really sound like that?"

And then he sighs, before breaking into a smile. "You should salute with your _right_hand, Italy."

He raises his own hand in salute, lips still quirked in the tiniest of smiles, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Understood. I'll remember to do all of that."

Veneziano smiles, even when he's scared and he's nervous, and when he's crying right now (_"Ah! W-why are you crying?"_) - because he doesn't want the people he cared for (he doesn't want _Germany_) to worry and fret over him.

He always smiles, so that when they finally come back again, they will see it and return the same smile back at him. 

_**-fine-**_


	8. Take 8: Flight

**Title:** Flight  
><strong>Series:<strong> Axis Powers Hetalia  
><strong>Character(s)Pairing(s): **Japan, North Italy  
><strong>RatingGenre:** PG-13 / Steampunk-fantasy, Gen.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> "Speed is a captain's best friend, ve~!" was the last thing Kiku heard before the captain nosedived into the ominous, thundering cloud.

**A/N:** An old piece I'd written for an app sample years back for an board I used to RP in. Tthis is not the same Londinium as the mafia-AU verse; it's a Victorian Era Steampunk-AU. Confession: It was the first drabble I've written after a ten-year hiatus from creative writing... I-I think it shows? orz. But I still kind of have a soft spot of this piece, hence I decided to throw it into the drabble series. No-brainer title a reference to the song _Garador's Flight_ by Jo Blankenburg.

* * *

><p>~.*.~<p>

.

.

Kiku Honda woke up to the sound of a somewhat familiar droning hum. For a moment, he wondered where he was. He stared at the streaks of light entering his room from the bottom of the door, thinking hard.

_Ah that's right_, he thought. He was on a merchant airship heading towards Londinium. He sat up and was immediately sorry, feeling a sharp stab of pain at the back of his eyes. At the same time he was aware of a dull throbbing at the both sides of his temple and how heavy his head felt. He groaned, clutching his head with his hands, as memories of the day before washed over him.

Upon boarding the ship, he had found that sitting in an airship continuously for days with a rather _enthusiastic _captain at the helm did not sit well at all with his stomach. He had thought the American explorer was a daredevil with the glider, flying at speeds that it shouldn't even be possible for a vehicle that size. The Italian captain he was flying with now proved just how wrong he was when they encountered a thunderstorm yesterday. Apparently the best way to fly during a storm was to fly directly _through_ the storm cloud. At break-neck speed.

"Speed is a captain's best friend, ve~!" was the last thing Kiku heard before the captain nosedived into the ominous, thundering cloud. He had spent most of the nosedive hanging onto the dear life and watching his life flash before him, thinking how terrible it was to die even before getting a taste of pasta and wurst. By some miracle however, they managed to survive the storm all in one piece. With the loom of death of out his mind, and the airship flying horizontally again, Kiku became preoccupied by something else: his churning stomach.

And thus he spent the rest of the day (and much of the night) feeling like he could throw up any moment.

Kiku shuddered, thinking about it now. He still felt a little air-sick, but at least now he didn't feel like he had to empty his stomach all the time... not that it wasn't already empty. He moved tentatively, taking care to stand up slowly and not swivel his head too quickly. Slipping on his jacket to keep out the cold of dawn, he made sure _Kusanagi _was fastened securely to his belt and proceeded to make his way up to the ship deck.

The crisp morning air was refreshing; Kiku immediately felt better. He said hello to a few of the crew who were already busying themselves with work, and walked towards the side of the ship. He glanced out over the skies, feeling the wind ruffle his raven-black hair as he gazed ahead. He felt his breath catch at the view: at the not-so-far-distance, he could see a vast land filled with huge buildings, all manner of gliders, planes and airships circling around in the sky directly above it. Clouds of steam trailed upwards from the cities, coloured pink and orange by the sun steadily rising from the east.

It was as if the land itself was alive and breathing.

Kiku could only look on, his usually stoic face now flushed with eagerness and excitement. He heard a soft chuckle behind him, and he turned.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" It was the Italian captain.

"Yes," he said softly, turning back to gaze at the buildings.

They continued watching in silence as the ship steadily made its way closer to Londinium.

.

.

**_-end-_**


End file.
